


Open My Eyes, That I May See

by SLWalker



Category: due South
Genre: Bondage, Domination, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Unabashedly Blasphemous Title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8769274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: The first half-dozen times Benny tied him up, Ray had mouthed off.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilInsaneMonkey](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=EvilInsaneMonkey).



The first half-dozen times Benny tied him up, Ray had mouthed off.  
  
"Ooh, kinky," he had joked, when Benny asked him, and Benny had done that thing with his eyebrows like he was saying 'yes, and...?' and so that was how Ray first ended up tied to the bed. It wasn't all that elaborate; a few silk scarves (where did Benny get those, was he planning this?), four point restraint on his back. Ray didn't shut up until he realized that the more he talked, the more Benny avoided touching his dick, which quickly became really frustrating because Benny was touching all kinds of other nice hot spots, so eventually Ray shut up and only then did Benny give him the best blow job of his life.  
  
(Ray had a moment on the build to climax where he actually thought, kind of deliriously, about all the things Benny had put in his mouth and wondered if he had some kind of oral fixation. No complaints if he did.)  
  
But he mouthed off the second time, the third, the fourth, the fifth. Benny graduated from silk to rope. Ray went from almost-controlled conversation to practically babbling.  
  
It wasn't that Ray didn't get it. He knew that talking meant he had to wait longer for the getting-off part of it. But he talked anyway, bluster overlaying some kinda nervous that he didn't really even know how to explain. If his mouth was the only thing he could use, he felt like he had to use it, like maybe if he said the right things it would make up for all the things he wasn't doing.  
  
Maybe if he kept talking, he could blow past the fact he was some skinny Italian rapidly approaching middle-age, a guy with all the hair that wasn't on his head growing south of his neck, and that he was being looked at every inch by a guy who turned heads everywhere he went. Maybe if he kept talking, he could pretend that he wasn't being worthless laying there, not using every bit of sexual experience and imagination he had to make it good for Benny, so good that Benny would never want to go find someone better.  
  
The sixth time, Ray got wound up. He didn't know why, he was just going on, babbling while Benny stroked over the sharp blades of his hips, the dark hair between 'em, and it felt good, but Ray was only half hard and for reasons he couldn't begin to guess at, he was scared out of his mind and he finally asked, hating the sharp edge in his voice, "Benny, what do you _want_ , why're you _doing this_?"  
  
What he would have asked if his voice hadn't cracked was, _'How can you even look at me?'_ It was, _'Why can't I just be a good thing for you and you let me?_ ' It was, _'I'm sorry, did I tell you how sorry I was?'_  
  
And honest, Ray didn't expect an answer, didn't even want one, because just asking that question scared the daylights out of him and he panted as quietly as he could, closing his eyes to the ceiling and flexing against the ropes woven around his skinny limbs, beautiful patterns over tired skin, and he didn't even know why he asked, he didn't _know_.  
  
He was vividly aware of the shift of Benny's weight as he moved, and then he had that broad hand splayed against the side of his face and Benny's thumb under his chin and his vision was blurry when he opened his eyes and he realized those were _tears_ and God, oh God.  
  
Benny swung a leg over, straddled him and used the hand not holding his face to stroke away the tears and even feeling like he was stealing something, Ray tipped his face into the touch and grit his teeth.  
  
"I want _this,_ Ray," Benny finally said, after a moment, voice the kind of certain Ray sometimes wished he could pretend he was.  
  
"What, me bawling like some snot-nosed brat?" Ray asked, voice choked and shoulders trembling, trying for humor and failing utterly.  
  
"Yes," Benny said, quick and serious, looking down at him with those blue eyes squinting, like if he narrowed 'em sharp enough he could peer right down through all the cracks and see what Ray was made of, as if that wasn't a terrifying idea. "Yes, Ray. I want the tears. I want your moaning, I want your pleasure, your grief, your anger, your need. I want all of it. Most of all," he went on, shifting his hands to cradle Ray's face, "I want you to trust me enough to give all of it to me."  
  
_"Why?"_  
  
Maybe that question was everything. Everything that had gone wrong between 'em. Everything that had gone right, too. It was only one word, and it was the only one Ray could ask, new tears scalding hot and pooling where they met the web between Benny's finger and thumb.  
  
Benny didn't answer fast this time. Instead, he took a long moment of regarding Ray, and Ray probably should have closed his eyes again, but he didn't, he needed to try to see what the Hell Fraser was thinking, except he couldn't, sometimes he thought he had never been able to even though he knew better.  
  
When Benny did speak, it was carefully. Like every word mattered.  
  
"It was never your failing, Ray." Benny sat back some, though he kept his weight on his shins and not on Ray, and he took one hand off Ray's face to trace the old scars and the newer one that were written into Ray's skin and under it. "You never owed me these. I was-- blind. Often. I was so very caught up in everything I thought I should be, or everything I should have done, that I often failed to see who I was. And who you were."  
  
He never had gotten how kind words could sometimes hurt, and if Ray woulda had a voice, he would have argued that, but he didn't.  
  
"I was angry with myself, so I directed half of that at you. I was determined to attain an ideal so that I could buy myself freedom from that anger, so I decided you should also strive for it. If I could maintain this long enough, my failings would fall away and I would be free."  
  
Benny stroked over those scars again, then rubbed at his own forehead, and God, did Ray want to hold him right then. But his hands were still woven into rope, secured to a bed. All he had now were his ears.  
  
"But they didn't. And no matter to what end of the earth I went, I couldn't stop seeing you leap again in front of a bullet. Without a second thought, without a hesitation. Not because you owed it to me, but because you loved me. I was oblivious, when you knocked me out of the window. I was still angry when you took the bullet for me in the hospital. But it was this one," he said, reaching down to touch the newest scar, "which haunted me. I left, I tried to find some meaning, but when I closed my eyes every night and watched you fall--"  
  
Hearing Benny's voice crack destroyed Ray's composure and then he was crying for real. Not that it hadn't already been pretty much rubble anyway.  
  
"--I finally realized what I should not have been blind to all along."  
  
"I shot you," Ray tried to say, but it came out a wrecked half-mumble, and Benny shook his head.  
  
"You shot me on accident, but you loved me on purpose."  
  
It sounded like it was a relief to say that. It felt like something sharp but maybe warm, too, to hear it.  
  
"So, yes. I want this." Benny reached over and stroked over the rope, and Ray could feel it transmitted through the bones of his forearm, felt it hum like a tuning fork, felt it through his shivering shoulders and his aching chest. "I want _you_. Not what you think you owe me, Ray, not what you have come to believe you deserve, but you, just you, like this, right now. I want to see everything I was blind to, and I want you to learn how to trust me enough again to let me."  
  
Ray didn't even begin to know how to answer that, but after a moment where he just cried and cried and cried, he managed a cracked, "Okay," and the last time he took such a leap of faith that he could maybe be good again, it had been that last bullet.  
  
"Okay," Benny agreed, shaky himself, leaning down to press a kiss between Ray's eyebrows.  
  
  
  
  
The seventh time, Ray didn't talk. He was still nervous, but instead of blustering, he shivered and Benny ran a hand down his back to soothe him. When Benny wove him in rope -- chest down, ass up, legs apart -- and stroked over his skin and said he was beautiful, he didn't believe it, but he did his best not to dismiss it. When Benny worked him over with lips and teeth and tongue and then fingers, Ray tried his hardest to relax when he was told to and let go. And when Benny had him so slow that Ray thought it was going to go on all night, he left any control he mighta pretended he had to the rope and Benny's hands on his hips and started to hear it when Benny told him how good it was.  
  
But most of all, when it was over and they were curled up and Benny was stroking over where the rope left pretty impressions in Ray's skin, he started to think maybe he deserved it when Benny said, "I love you."


End file.
